


That one time John was jealous of a kiss

by Mamajo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, irate doctors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamajo/pseuds/Mamajo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promt fill for Beardy Hipster Kisses and jealous room mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That one time John was jealous of a kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/gifts).



> This is a really short thing inspired by the beautiful [MadLori](http://madlori.tumblr.com/post/76077477980/so-many-photos-of-attractive-beardy-hipster-men), who wanted to see a jealous John Watson reacting to Sherlock Holmes snogging a beardy hipster guy :)

On an intellectual level John had known that something was different. His emotions had started to jump all over the place, always starting with a burning in his throat when he saw Sherlock doing... anything, really. That feeling that crawled down into his stomach and into his veines and made his heart hurt. It was getting more than annoying. The sexual tension alone was something that felt as if he could crawl out of his skin at any moment.

But John had decided early on that he would do nothing about it. Their life as room mates was a good one and needlessly shaking the boat would only upset the status quo.

And than came the day he saw Sherlock Bloody Holmes kissing another man.

On that one particular day John had woken from a bad dream in the middle of the night and failed to get back to sleep. Crankiness ensued. Everything was too loud, too bright. Sherlock had been playing the violin when he went down to breakfast. John had grit his teeth, started yelling about inconsiderate room mates and had watched Sherlock flounce off in a huff with a dark scowl on his face.

The day didn't get any better. On his way to work it started to rain (he had forgotten his umbrella), the tube was more crowded than usual (he stood nose to armpit of an especially unwashed individual for the whole trip) and his inbox was overflowing with files of patients who had the flu (snot and phlegm were his world). John just wanted this day to end.

So the fact that he saw Sherlock Bloody Holmes snogging a guy who was dressed in a sweater vest and biker boots (and had a bloody beard) on his way home made his already boiling blood steam with rage. It was just a glimpse, the train left the station in the next second and he only just about saw hands creep into those unmistakeable curls, gripping tight and angling that scathing mouth further to deepen the kiss, but it was enough. The term 'seeing red' came to mind.

As soon as the doors opened on the next station John was out of the car. It was only another stop anyway and he desperately needed to let go of some of the rage or he would do something unforgiveable. People were giving him a wide berth all the way home. Closing the front door with more force than neccessary he stomped his way upstairs. The tea kettle rattled in his shaking fingers, spilling some water over the counter before John managed to close the lid. Turning on the heat, he stepped back from the stove.

His hands clenched and unclenched in ever increasing movements, his shoulder muscles tightend till they were fit to burst. His teeth clenched, making his jaw hurt with tension. John slammed his hands onto the counter in front of him. The whistling of the kettle a moment later drilled at the forming headache and made him shut his eyes.

The door to the kitchen opened. John's head snapped around. Sherlock Bloody Holmes stood in the entrance, hair artfully mussed, lips red from kissing, smug tilt to the head. John Watson's self control flew out of the window.

Sherlock could only watch with fascination as his usually so controlled room mate left his civilized bearing behind and transformed into the predator he was. Being stalked had its own flavour, Sherlock noticed. Fear trembled under his skin, making him take a step back. His shoulders collided with the kitchen door and John was on him. Hands fisted into his coat collar, forcing his neck to bend. Hot lips crushed into his mouth, devouring his breath, stealing coherence and every will to move away. 

Seemed like that little excursion to his favourite bar today would be his last, Sherlock thought and succumbed.


End file.
